The Agent Coulson Files
by Darkpenn
Summary: This collection consolidates the twelve stories featuring Agent Phil Coulson, Wanda, members of the Avengers, and other interested parties.


**The Agent Coulson Files**

_This collection consolidates the twelve stories featuring Agent Phil Coulson, Wanda, members of the Avengers, and other interested parties._

* * *

**While You Were Sleeping**

_Agent Coulson encounters an enemy from another time – a dangerous enemy. _

"Why isn't he dead?" said Agent Coulson.

"By all accounts, he should be," said the doctor. "Frozen for decades under a mountain of ice. That element in his blood that we can't identify, I suppose. Or maybe he's just one tough mother of a soldier."

"Maybe he just hasn't finished what he has to do yet," said Coulson.

The doctor grunted. "Who is he, anyway?" he said. "Must be important, since you've taken over the entire wing of this hospital."

"That's classified," said Coulson. "Very."

"And just who are you … Agent … ?"

"Agent will be fine."

"Agent what?"

"Just Agent."

"And yet you come here every day, to sit by this bed for an hour or so. As I've told you, I don't know when he'll wake up. Or even if he will."

"Oh, he will."

The doctor sighed. Talking to this guy was like talking to a book marked DO NOT OPEN. EVER.

"Well, as usual I'll leave you to it," said the doctor. "I'll go and check the results of this morning's bio-samples." With the sniff of someone who pretended to know what was going on but really didn't, he turned and left.

For a while, Coulson stood looking at the sleeping form. "Don't be too long," he said eventually. "I have a feeling that we're going to need you soon."

He took a small CD player from his pocket. "Brought you something," he said. "From a friend of mine, name of Wanda. Maybe Benny Goodman or Charlie Parker would be more your taste, but I thought you might like it."

He turned it on. Cello music, as gentle and rhythmic as a summer breeze, filled the room.

Two orderlies came in, one pushing a wheeled table covered with a towel. Rather strangely, they were wearing head masks, the type used for sterile medical environments. Their faces were completely hidden.

The one in the lead stared at Coulson, apparently surprised to see him there.

"You should leave," said the orderly. "We have to take some samples."

"The samples for today have already been taken," said Coulson.

"We need more," said the orderly. "You should leave. And take that damned music with you, it's getting on my nerves."

The orderly was standing on the other side of the bed now, the wheeled table beside him. He reached under the covering towel and pulled out a large syringe. Coulson could see the outline of a number of scalpels and blades under the towel.

Coulson realised that the other orderly had moved so that he was to one side of him. He glanced at the man. He was wearing hospital scrubs, even surgical gloves as well as the head-covering mask. He looked like a hospital employee, if somewhat overdone in the protective garb. But there was … something … wrong … something …

_The shoes. _

The man moved quickly, drawing a knife and leaping at Coulson. But Coulson was faster. He did not have time to draw his gun but didn't need to. Like most of the people he had fought, his opponent under-estimated his strength and speed. Big mistake.

Coulson punched out with one hand, catching the man on the side of the head. Even through the mask, there was the sound of a crunch. In the same motion, Coulson got his other hand under the man, and used his own momentum to throw him over the bed and into the other 'orderly'.

Coulson expected them to go down together but the other man knocked his flying companion aside. He growled savagely and pulled the towel from the table, picking up a large knife. But his target was not Coulson. It was the man in the bed.

"Don't even think it," said Coulson, drawing his gun. "You will not have him. Step back."

The man stared at Coulson. Then he stepped back. Coulson wished he could see the man's face – so he could know what the man was planning. He doubted that this person, whoever it was, would surrender easily. But the mask hid the man's features.

"Now the knife," said Coulson.

The man threw the knife to the side. The polished surface caught a glint of light. Instinctively, Coulson's eye flashed to it.

It was only a moment but it was enough. The man lifted his arm, and a stream of choking smoke shot out from his sleeve. Coulson fired a shot into the haze, aiming at where the man had been. But he heard the bullet strike the wall.

Coulson felt the man rush past, out of the room and into the hospital hallway. Coughing, Coulson followed.

He saw the man walking – strangely, not even running – towards a door marked EXIT – STAIRS. Coulson, still holding his gun, went after him.

Coulson burst through the stairwell door, half-expecting a trap. But he saw the man walking down the steps, almost calmly, on the other side of the stairwell.

Coulson took a deep breath and leaped across the gap. He landed on the man and they rolled down to the next landing together. Coulson came out on top.

He jabbed his gun into the man's chest. "Now let's see who you really are," he said. He wrenched the mask away from the man's face.

And gasped in surprise. There was another mask – made of purple silk. Coulson could see the shine of the man's eyes through the slits.

"You," said Coulson. "Zemo."

"Who," said Baron Zemo, "did you expect? The Red Skull, perhaps?"

Both men struggled to their feet. But Coulson still had his gun trained on his enemy.

Then there was the sound of someone running down the steps towards them. It was the other 'orderly', and he was wielding one of the knives from the surgical table. He was coming straight for Coulson.

Coulson fired, twice. Chest and head. Double tap.

The man went down, sliding down the steps and coming to a rest at Coulson's feet.

Coulson turned back to Zemo. But he was gone.

As he walked back to the room, Coulson called the Consequences & Disposals Unit at SHIELD. They would collect the body of Zemo's henchman and do an analysis, but he doubted they would find anything useful. From what he knew of Zemo – and he recalled stories that his father had told him – he would not make that sort of mistake. But the incident raised a hornet's nest of disturbing questions.

He sat down by the bed. The cello music was still playing.

He looked at the sleeping figure. "One day," he said, "I'll have to tell you about what happened while you were sleeping."

END

* * *

**A Day at the Museum**

_For Agent Coulson, even some time off has its share of remarkable events._

"Many women," said Agent Coulson, "would not think of a trip to the museum as an exciting outing."

"Then perhaps it means that I am not like many women," said Wanda, with a smile. "I think I will find an exhibition of Egyptian artefacts very interesting. So thank you for suggesting it. It was fortunate that you could take the day off when you were in Portland on business."

"As off as any of my days are," said Coulson. "And as for being in Portland, well, my work takes me to many places, usually at strange times."

Wanda smiled again, hoping that she was not betraying her inner uncertainty. She was not at all sure that she was doing this right. Indeed, she was not even sure what 'this' was. Was this a 'date'? It was the third time she had been with Coulson, not counting the cello recital where they had first met, where she had been playing. But she knew that she liked being with him, and felt safe with him, even though she was slightly taller than he was.

As they approached the museum, they saw that the doors were closed. "Hmm, twenty minutes until they open," said Coulson. "That sounds like just enough time to sit by the river and have a hot dog, perhaps." He pointed to a hot-dog vendor.

"Dog?" said Wanda. "In my country, that is not something we eat."

"Uh, it's just an expression," said Coulson. "It isn't actually made of dog. It's made of … well, no-one really knows. But not dog."

"Oh," said Wanda. "You know, I think it is my turn to pay. You find a seat for us and I will buy the not dogs."

Coulson gave a little laugh. "Okay," he said, and headed towards a bench.

Wanda went to the vendor and ordered two hot dogs. But when he was handing them to her she realised that she was not carrying any money. Well, that was not a problem.

"I have already paid," she said to the vendor.

"Yes, you have already paid," said the man.

"Have a good day," she said.

"Yes, I will," said the man. He gave a big smile, as if he had just realised that life was wonderful and the world was a fine place.

It was, thought Wanda, a fair trade. She joined Coulson.

"Just what country is it that you come from?" said Coulson, as they ate.

"A little out-of-the-way place that no-one has ever heard of," said Wanda.

"I have heard of most," said Coulson. "Try me."

"Oh, look, the museum has opened," said Wanda. "We can go in now."

So they went into the museum and began to examine the exhibits. After a while, they came to an amulet, ensconced in a case of shatter-proof glass. It was made of jade, or some similar material, and there was writing around the outer side.

Coulson looked at the display label. " 'Origin unknown, inscription unknown'," he read. "Funny, it looks more like something from Norse mythology than Egyptian. Perhaps it just got mixed up somehow."

"Are you familiar with Norse mythology?" said Wanda.

"I have … a friend … in … that field," said Coulson.

Wanda was trying to read the inscription. She recognised it as Ancient Althussian, although it was many years since she had seen any of it. The only words she could make out appeared to say '… to bind those of mystical strength … ' or something like that. But she said nothing. As she watched, the amulet began to emit a faint green glow.

She glanced at Coulson. He gave no sign of being able to see the glow.

She stared at it. She remembered her father telling her once that some very old things seemed to know when something was about to happen, and those with the right eyes could see their signal. The glow grew brighter.

Then, from the far side of the room, there was a sudden cry of alarm. There was a flash of light, and a sound like a muted peal of thunder. A silvery crack appeared in the wall, expanding to the size of a doorway.

"A portal," murmured Coulson. "In Portland, of all places." He took out his gun and held it up. "Out!" he shouted. "Everybody out!"

All the museum-goers rushed to the exits, until only Coulson and Wanda were left.

"You had better get out too," said Coulson to her. "No telling what might come out of that thing."

"No, I'll stay," Wanda said. "I'd like to see."

Before they could discuss it further, someone stepped out of the portal. It was a woman, wearing a somewhat revealing outfit of green silk and shiny metal. She was followed by a man – a very, very big man, with a very, very big axe.

"Enchantress," said Coulson to her. "I've read your file. It said that you always like to make a grand entrance."

"So my fame precedes me," said the Enchantress. "Which is hardly a surprise. Stand aside, little man, whoever you are."

Coulson lifted his gun and fired: first at the Enchantress, then at the big man. The bullets merely bounced off.

Coulson looked at the gun. "Sometimes, I don't know why they bother giving us these things," he said.

The Enchantress held up her hand, and there was a bolt of green energy. It threw Coulson and Wanda across the room.

The Enchantress peered into the case, at the amulet. "Ah, my pretty," she said to it. "I've been looking for you for some time."

She stepped back, and the big man smashed the case with one blow of his axe.

Coulson and Wanda got up and dusted themselves off. "So who is this?" said Wanda.

"The Enchantress," said Coulson. "One-time Asgardian, long-time enemy of Thor. An immortal sorceress. The guy with the axe is her minion and bodyguard, known as the Executioner. Basically, a mountain of muscle, BO, and bad attitude."

Wanda nodded.

"You don't seem overly surprised," said Coulson.

"I have some … unusual … relatives myself," said Wanda.

The Enchantress had put the amulet around her wrist and was admiring it.

Coulson walked over to her. "So if you've just come to do a little trinket shopping," he said, "you can take it and return to the nearest parallel dimension forthwith."

"No, not quite yet," said the Enchantress. "Now that I have the Amulet of Timroth, I have a score to settle."

She took a hand-sized oblong stone, pale but inscribed with viridian markings, from her belt. She held it up and recited a complex spell. It was in a strange language but Coulson thought that he heard the word 'Thor' in there.

There was a sudden flash, like a streak of lightning. And then Thor, God of Thunder, was standing in the room, looking somewhat surprised and by no means pleased.

"What devilry is this!" he said. Then he saw the Enchantress. "Ah, you, wicked one, I should have known."

"Yes," said the Enchantress. "You should have."

She held up the amulet. A bolt of energy, like a snake, whipped out of it. It curled around Thor, pinning his arms to his sides. He tried to break it, but not even his might could do it.

"You can try all you like, but you will not free yourself," said the Enchantress. "As the amulet says, it will bind those of mystical strength. It is … what is the word, a human word … "

"Guaranteed?" suggested Wanda.

"Ah, yes," said the Enchantress. "It says so, right here, on the side, you see?"

"By Odin, Enchantress," shouted Thor, "release me or I will – "

The Enchantress pointed the amulet again, and another bolt of energy shot out, this one wrapping itself across Thor's mouth.

"And the humans have another saying that I believe is appropriate," said the Enchantress. "It goes: 'yada yada yada'. Now let us see, Asgardian, how immortal you are without your handsome head on your shoulders." She gestured to the Executioner.

"Hold it," said Coulson, stepping between the Executioner and Thor. He looked up at the much bigger man. "You know," he said, "I can understand that you have a grudge. The file said you had been beaten by Thor, what, was it five times? No, it was six. And I think the Hulk handed your ass to you as well. Twice."

The Executioner snarled.

"And even Loki, who's not much in the muscle department, did you over," said Coulson.

The Executioner lifted his axe and smashed it down. But Coulson, much faster on his feet, dodged aside. The Executioner, enraged, went after him – but now he was moving away from the bound, still-struggling Thor.

"So what I'm really asking," said Coulson to the Executioner, as he took something from his pocket, "is: is there anyone who _hasn't_ beaten you?"

The Executioner swung the axe again and again but he just couldn't seem to make contact with his much smaller – and much more nimble – opponent.

The Enchantress raised her hand, ready to throw one of her bolts of magical energy at Coulson – if she could just get a clear shot.

Wanda, standing behind the Enchantress, felt her hand start to tingle. _No,_ she told herself, fighting down her instincts._ Not that way._

"Hey, skanky one," she said to the Enchantress. Surprised, the Enchantress turned.

"Magic this," said Wanda. Then she punched her – on the nose.

The Enchantress cried out in pain and surprise, and sat down with a very undignified thud. "My nose!" she gasped, as blood ran down her face. "I … I think you broke it!"

"For an immortal sorceress," said Wanda, "you sure go down easy."

"Well," huffed the Enchantress, as she got to her feet, "the Amulet of Timroth can bind two mystical creatures as easily as it can bind one." She lifted the amulet and pointed it at Wanda.

There was a shot. The amulet flew from the wrist of the Enchantress, knocked off by Coulson's bullet. It fell to the floor, and broke into pieces.

Immediately, the snakes of energy imprisoning Thor fell away.

"Damn," said the Enchantress.

Coulson walked up to her.

"Why are you not dead?" said the Enchantress to him.

"You really should think about getting better help," said Coulson. He pointed at the Executioner. The big man was shackled by SHIELD handcuffs, right wrist to left ankle. He had a look of unhappy astonishment on his face.

"Party trick," said Coulson. "And if you want to get that nose fixed, I know the guy who does the work for Tony Stark."

The Enchantress screamed in anger and frustration. She ran to the other side of the room, and conjured a portal in the wall. In a moment, she was gone, with the Executioner hobbling after her. The portal closed.

A man in an expensive suit, presumably the head of the museum, came running in.

"Look at this mess!" he cried, gesturing at the damage. "Who's going to pay for this!"

"Just sweep up the glass and give it a fresh coat of paint, and have a nice day," said Wanda.

The man stopped his rant. Then his face broke into a smile. "Yes, we'll sweep up the glass and put on some new paint and it will be fine," he said. "In fact, it's good to have some excitement, since not much happens here. It's a museum, after all." With another smile, he left, a spring in his step.

"That bit was odd," said Coulson.

Thor stepped up to him and clasped his hand. "So once again I am indebted to you, Son of Coul," he boomed. He turned to Wanda. He stared at her. "I believe we have met before," he said. "You have my thanks, Sc – "

"No, we haven't met," interrupted Wanda, brushing aside a lock of her hair, and passing her hand across her face as she did so. "As for thanks about today, forget about it."

"Yes," said Thor. "I will forget everything about today."

"No, that's not what – "

But Thor was already twirling his hammer. He launched himself skywards, smashing through the glass atrium ceiling of the museum, on his way back to wherever it was he had come from.

"I suppose," said Coulson to Wanda, as they made their way through the wreckage to the door, "that this was not really the sort of date you were expecting."

"Was this a date?" said Wanda. "Well, you certainly know how to show a girl a good time. You know, I think I would like another not dog."

Coulson smiled. "Me too," he said.

"But first," said Wanda, "please tell me your name. And don't say that it is Agent."

Coulson smiled again. And then he told her.

END

* * *

**Lost and Found**

_In highly unusual circumstances, Agent Coulson finds a treasure._

"Jarvis," said Coulson. "Do we have to do this again?"

"As I told you, Agent Coulson, my security protocols only allow a very small number of people into the Stark house," said Jarvis. "And I regret that you are not on the list."

Coulson held up a device that looked like a very sophisticated cellphone. "You know that I can over-ride your protocols," he said. He took out his gun and held it before Jarvis' camera lens. "Or I could shoot you in the eye, if you prefer." _Or_, he thought, _I could simply walk around to the back of the house to where there is a large hole in the wall._

There was a long pause. Then, if computer security systems could sigh, Jarvis sighed. "Very well, Agent," it said. The front door opened. Coulson went in. "I believe that Ms Potts is in Houston, if it is her you are looking for. Mr Stark is downstairs, in the workroom," Jarvis said.

"I am only here to check that Mr Stark is staying on the straight and narrow," said Coulson, as he went down the steps and into the cavernous room.

"Of course I am, the straightest and the narrowest," said Stark, from the hi-tech table where he was manipulating a 3-D image. "Come in, come in, have a drink. Do you drink … hey, what is your first name, anyway?"

"Agent," said Coulson. He looked around. "Pepper mentioned that you were having the place re-modelled, again," he said. There was scaffolding, paint and plaster everywhere, as well as the miles of cables and circuitry that usually hid in the walls of the house. And, of course, the standard wreckage that went with Stark's experiments and constructions, including the remains of the centrifugal ARC mini-reactor he had built a few days before.

"Yes, but as she's away I gave the drones the day off," said Stark. "How goes the dismantling of Mr Hammer's rickety little empire?"

"Fine, according to the accountants," said Coulson. "And since you are not lying drunk in a gutter, I will report back that you are, well, not lying drunk in a gutter."

"Right, do that, but remember that the day is young. Uh, wait a second, did you just say 'Pepper'? As in 'Pepper Potts'? _My _Pepper Potts?"

"No, another Pepper Potts," said Coulson.

"Sirs," broke in Jarvis. "The workmen have arrived for the painting."

"I told them not to come today," said Stark.

"They have the appropriate security passes, sir," said Jarvis.

"Huh," said Stark. "I guess Pepper cancelled my cancellation. Let them in, Jarvis."

"Why," said Coulson, "did you give Jarvis an English accent?"

"It's English!" said Stark. "I always thought it was Canadian."

There was the sound of four men coming down the stairs. They were carrying large kitbags.

"Hey, you're not the usual guys," said Stark to the one in the lead.

"No, we're the other guys," said the man. He turned to show the sign on the back of his overalls. It did, indeed, say THE OTHER GUYS.

"Huh," said Stark. "How about that."

"Tell me," said Coulson to the man. "Are you going to do the Navaho Sunset White today, or the Morning Cloud Cream?"

"The, uh, Cream," said the man.

In an instant, Coulson had his gun in his hand. But the 'painters' had realised he was onto them, and they scattered, pulling weapons from their bags and ducking for cover.

"What's – " said Stark. Then Coulson, diving, knocked him down. They landed behind a heavy bench. There was a burst of machine-gun fire, splintering the wood and metal sheltering them. Coulson fired back – not with much hope of hitting any of the attackers, just to give them something to think about.

"So what you're saying is that this is not an ordinary home decorating crew," said Stark.

Coulson lifted the cuff of his trouser leg and pulled out another gun – his back-up weapon – from a holster. He handed it to Stark.

"And what does this fire?" said Stark.

"Bullets," said Coulson.

"You mean, lumps of metal?"

"Sorry, I don't carry lasers in my socks."

"Well, maybe you should think about it. I have three Iron Man suits right here in the workshop that will turn these guys into curry-coloured paste."

"Where, exactly?"

"Over there."

"You mean, on the other side of the room? Behind the guys trying to kill us?"

"Ah, I think I see the problem. Well, I can get Jarvis to operate one by remote. Jarvis? Are you there?"

Nothing. Presumably, the 'painters' had brought something with them to block any local communications.

"Who _are_ these guys!" said Stark.

"From the nature of their weapons, I would say mercenaries," said Coulson, as another burst of machine-gun fire raked the bench. "Have you pissed anyone off?"

"Well, let me see," said Stark. "There's the oil companies, Middle Eastern terrorists, the Colombian drug cartels, the Russian Mafia, the Italian mafia, the Swedish mafia – they're the worst, the Chinese government, Greenpeace, a number of people in the US military, Daiwa Heavy Steel, several factions of the CIA, the Trilateral Commission – "

"How about recently?" said Coulson.

"That is recently," said Stark.

"I suppose that it doesn't much matter," said Coulson. "The bottom line is that these guys are good. They're moving to flank us, slow and steady, and then we won't be able to hold them off."

"Not really fair, attacking a guy when he doesn't have his super-powered armour and energy weapons," said Stark.

"It's a hard world," said Coulson.

"I know how to solve this," said Stark. He called out: "How much are you guys being paid?"

There was a pause. A voice came back: "Ten million."

"Ten million!" muttered Stark. "That's almost an insult." He called out again: "I'll give you twenty million if you'll go and kill the guys who gave you the ten!"

There was another pause. Then another call: "We have our professional pride, you know!" And then there was another burst of machine gun fire.

"Great," said Stark. "Mercenaries with a work ethic."

"This is not a good situation," said Coulson. He had tried to call for back-up from SHIELD but the call had been blocked. Then one of the 'painters' made the mistake of jumping up to fire at the wrong time. Coulson shot him in the head. One down.

"Good shootin', Tex!" said Stark.

"Please shut up," said Coulson, as he watched the other three steadily work their way into better positions.

"You know, there's a manual remote control to the Iron Man suits on that shelf over there," said Stark. He pointed: the shelf was a good twenty feet of open space away.

"Then perhaps you should go and get it," suggested Coulson. Another burst of machine-gun fire smashed into the bench. It would not last much longer.

One of the attackers threw a grenade. It exploded, blowing Stark's centrifuge/reactor to pieces and sending chunks of equipment and metal flying.

Something landed with a clang a metre away from Coulson. He stared at it.

"Is that what I think it is?" he said.

"That depends on what you think it is," said Stark. "It was in my Dad's collection of old bits and pieces. I think he found it when he was poking around in the North Atlantic, looking for something or other."

Coulson took off his belt. He threw the end with the buckle towards the round object. The buckle hooked it, and he pulled it back. He picked it up and held it.

"Never thought I would get to do this," he murmured. "Now, where is that remote control you mentioned?"

Stark pointed. "So you're going to use this thing like a shield, right?" he said.

"Yes," said Coulson. "Like a shield."

Coulson held the shield up, and ran for the control. The 'painters' immediately fired. Their high-velocity bullets scraped at the red and blue paint, but otherwise bounced off.

In a few moments, Coulson had reached the shelf. He picked up the control and threw it back to Stark.

"Aha!" said Stark as he began to push buttons. "Now for some fireworks."

One of the Iron Man suits on the other side of the room turned in its alcove, and lifted its arm. It fired a repulsor beam, smashing into the gunmen and sending them flying through the air. They lay stunned.

Stark came out from behind the bench. He leaned over the leader. "And the moral of the story," he said, "is that you should, er … let me think … uh, you should never … okay, I'm not good with morals. Leave it with me."

One of the men started to get to his feet. He was behind Stark. He drew a pistol.

Coulson threw the shield. It sliced through the air, spinning, and knocked the man down. It bounced off a wall and sailed back to Coulson, landing at his feet.

"You know," said Stark, "with a bit of practice you could probably learn to catch it."

"Probably," said Coulson. He picked it up.

"So now," said Stark, "I suppose that I have to thank you, and say 'is there anything I can do to repay you', et cetera. How about your own helicopter? How about a holiday on a Caribbean island? Or how about your own Caribbean island?"

"Since you mention it," said Coulson, "there is one thing – "

His phone buzzed. The blocking device must have been destroyed when the 'painters' went down. It was a text message. He read it, and then nodded to himself.

"I have to go," he said. "And as for thanks, I'm taking this." He held up the shield.

"Sure," said Stark. "What are you going to do with it?"

"It isn't for me," said Coulson.

* * *

Steve Rogers sat in the bare room, in a studiously anonymous building in New York. A few hours ago, he had awoken in a hospital bed. He had escaped – if that was the right word – and found himself in a Times Square he could hardly recognise, with a big one-eyed black guy telling him that he had been asleep for a long, long time.

He could not remember anything from his years – decades – of slumber. No, wait, there was something: a faint pulse of cello music, and a voice speaking calmly to him.

But there was nothing else to hold on to. Nothing in this world that was known. If there was just one thing, one solid thing –

There was a knock at the door, and it opened. A man in a dark suit came in.

"Good to see you, Captain," said the man. He sounded … familiar. "I have something for you. Something that is yours."

And he handed him his shield.

END

* * *

**Really Good Kisses**

_They both have secrets. Which is not necessarily a bad thing._

Wanda was putting on lipstick in preparation for what was, she had definitely decided, a 'date'. She checked her work in the mirror, and made that _p-wha_ sound that women make. She was looking forward to seeing Coulson – Phillip – again. She checked her watch. A few more minutes. He was always on time.

There was a sound behind her. She tensed, and then spun around, hand raised.

It was her brother.

"Dammit, Pietro!" she said. "How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that! Just because you can move that fast doesn't mean you should, you know! Next time I'll turn you into a slug, and we'll see how Quicksilver-y you are then!"

Pietro laughed. "Calm down, sister," he said. "Can't a fellow drop in to see his beloved twin without her getting into a temper? Remember what happened last time you lost it?"

"I'm trying to forget," she said.

"Ah. And is that why you are here, in this crashingly dull city, pretending to be a normal human being? Playing the fiddle? _Homo sap_?"

"It's a cello," she said. "And I'm not just pretending, Pietro. I do normal things. I even went to a museum a little while ago."

"Yes, I heard about that. All very normal."

"And I have a boyfriend now … I think. He's arriving soon, which means you should go. Now."

"Mmm … I think I'll stay and meet him. You know, you don't have to work this hard. You could easily make him fall madly, unquestioning, insanely in love with you. And you could have everyone think you are the best fiddle-player in all of history, and you wouldn't even have to practice. And you could live in a mansion instead of this silly little house."

"I know. But you're missing the point, Pietro."

"I think _you_ are, sister."

Wanda sighed. _This is why friends are better than relatives, _she thought. _You can choose your friends. _

She was a little troubled that Pietro had heard about the incident at the museum. _That was the problem with the underground community of super-powered individuals,_ she thought_. A bunch of damned gossips. Natter natter natter, like a tribe of grandmothers from the old country._

There was a familiar knock at the door.

"Okay, you can stay and meet him, and then you leave," said Wanda to Pietro. "But behave yourself. Don't make me do something you'll regret."

"I'll be as good as I always am," said Pietro, as he followed his sister to the door.

Wanda grimaced, but she opened the door and invited Coulson in.

"This is my brother," said Wanda to Coulson. "Er, Peter. Michelson. Same as me. Obviously. Peter Michelson."

"Yes, I have the same surname as my sister," said Pietro, as he and Coulson shook hands. "What is your line of work, Mister Coulson?"

"Just Coulson will be fine," said Coulson. "I'm in a branch of a large insurance firm. The branch that tries to ensure bad things don't happen. And you?"

"I'm in the family business."

"Peter was just leaving," said Wanda.

"No I wasn't," said Pietro.

"Yes you were," said Wanda, through gritted teeth.

Pietro heaved a mock sigh. "Oh alright," he said. "I'll see you later."

Then, suddenly, he was gone. Wanda glanced at Coulson. If he was surprised at the vanishing act, he gave no sign.

"Well," he said. "Shall we go?"

"Sure," said Wanda, although she was a bit worried about Pietro's 'see you later' remark. Damn, she'd probably spend the rest of the day waiting for him to pop up. "Where are we going? You said it would be a surprise."

"There's a very good restaurant up in the hills, has a very good view of the city and the river," he said. "I thought we might drive up there for lunch."

So they did. And it was a very good lunch, with a lovely view. After they had eaten, they walked along a forest path to a charming lookout. They had it to themselves.

"Phillip," said Wanda. "How many times have we gone out together?"

"This is the fourth," he said.

"Then perhaps," she said, "it is time for you to kiss me."

He smiled. Then, with a sudden and surprising strength, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Several times. With just the right amount of passion.

Wanda felt herself starting to melt. When he let her go, her head was spinning and her heart was thumping. While she did not have a huge amount of experience in the area, she felt that these kisses were … really good. Really good kisses.

After that, they sat side-by-side on the bench for a while, admiring the view.

Coulson's phone buzzed. He ignored it. Then it switched to the 'urgent' tone. He continued to ignore it. It went into 'emergency' mode.

He sighed. Pity there was no way to turn the damn thing off. "I'm sorry, Wanda, but I had better take this call," he said. He stood up and walked a few metres away, out of earshot.

It was Maria Hill, second-in-charge of SHIELD.

"Coulson, I'm sorry to disturb your free time, but I believe you said you were going to Portland, is that right?" she said.

"Yes," said Coulson.

"We have just detected a spike of energy in the area. Some sort of mystical energy, hard to define. About a minute ago. It's fallen away now, but it really jumped up there for a few moments."

"Where?" he said.

"In the hills not far from Portland."

Coulson said nothing for several moments. He glanced back at Wanda. "Can you provide co-ordinates?" he said.

Hill read a series of numbers. Coulson checked his phone, which gave his precise position. They matched.

"This energy," he said. "Could it be dangerous?"

"At the level we tracked, probably not. In fact, it had a profile that looked a bit positive. You know, 'happy thoughts' energy. But the fact that the origin is unknown is a worry."

He considered. Then he said: "Deputy Director, you don't need to be concerned. I have the situation under control."

He heard Hill breathe a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good," she said. "There are not many people I trust, but if you say there's no cause for alarm, that's enough for me."

"In fact," he said, "you might see it go up again over the next little while. If it does, don't worry."

"Okay," said the Deputy Director. "I'll leave the matter in your hands." She hung up.

Coulson walked back to Wanda and sat down beside her.

"Phillip," she said. "You don't really work for an insurance company, do you?" she said.

"Not as most people would define it," he said. "And you're not just a cellist, I think."

She nodded. "Does it matter to you?" she said.

"Not at all. You?"

"No."

"So what would you like to do? Talk about it?"

"Definitely not," she said. "Right now, I would like some more kisses."

He smiled, and again took her in his arms.

* * *

Pietro was watching them from the cover of some low trees. He could feel the pulse of energy emanating from his sister.

"This," he said to himself, "will not end well."

END

* * *

**Unwrap the Easter Egg!**

_A new enemy for Agent Coulson, and maybe a new friend as well. Maybe._

It was a little diner in a little town. Banner was finishing his burger when a man in a dark suit sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Whoever you're looking for, you've got the wrong guy," said Banner.

"My name is Agent Coulson," said Coulson. "I work with SHIELD. We don't have a lot of time, Dr Banner. You have to come with me."

"Have I already said you've got the wrong guy?"

"You have."

Banner sighed. "So are you here to … what? Take me in? I know someone who might have a problem with that."

"No, Dr Banner. Just the opposite. True, there are people in SHIELD who believe that you – or your friend, to be more precise – can be safely restrained. I am not one of them. But the reason I am here is to tell you that there is someone else on your trail. And they are getting very close. Only a few minutes away, in fact. An outfit called AIM."

"Never heard of it. Do I owe them money?"

"AIM. Advanced Idea Mechanics. Criminal organisation full of extremely smart people. They like to do research. Research which often involves cutting things into very small pieces. In this case, that would be you. One way or another, SHIELD has no desire to see AIM increase its knowledge base in the gamma radiation field. So our interests coincide."

"And you know all this … how?"

"We like to keep an eye on you. We picked up the AIM convoy on our surveillance net." He looked around at the people in the diner. "We probably should be moving along," he said. "One of the more disagreeable aspects of AIM is that they don't care too much about collateral damage."

Banner sighed again. "I was waiting for a bus, you know," he said.

"My car is outside," said Coulson.

"Uh, I should pay for the meal," said Banner.

"It's handled," said Coulson. "This way, Dr Banner."

So in a few moments they were in Coulson's SHIELD car, speeding away from the diner and through the empty countryside.

"So you keep tabs on me, eh?" said Banner.

"As much as we can. We know you like to keep moving, stay on the back roads and in rural areas. But that might not be the right strategy. Hiding in a crowd can be more effective. Have you ever thought about going somewhere overseas? Somewhere with a lot of people and not so many cameras? India, maybe."

"Hmm," said Banner.

"As it turns out," said Coulson, "I can help you with the paperwork. I have a passport with your name on it, travel documents, and a wad of cash right here."

"Hmm," said Banner again.

"Anyway, something to think about," said Coulson.

He pressed some buttons on the car console. A little screen popped up. An image of what was behind them appeared.

There were three vehicles: two vans and something that looked like a semi-trailer. Despite their size, and despite the fact that Coulson had the car's accelerator on the floor, the AIM vehicles were gaining.

"They have some really nice stuff," said Banner, studying the image.

"Yes, they do," said Coulson.

As they watched, a dark-haired woman climbed out of the window of the leading van and onto the roof. She was wearing a body-hugging suit that showed off some very appealing curves.

"Really nice stuff," said Banner.

The woman hefted a weapon that looked like a missile launcher. She fired something.

A rocket streaked towards them, and then over the car. It went off in front of then, but the explosion was not so much a bang as a crackle of energy.

The engine of the car sputtered and died. Coulson glided the car to the edge of the road and stopped. The AIM vehicles were still coming.

"Cool toys they have," said Banner. "Do we run?"

"We do," said Coulson.

There was only one way to go: away from the road. But they had only gone thirty metres when they came to the edge of a steep cliff. A hundred metres below, there was a river surging along in a chasm.

"Well, this is an uh-oh moment," said Banner, looking down.

"Going to get worse, I think," said Coulson.

Another rocket came flying through the air. This one landed ten metres away, exploding with a ground-shaking boom.

Coulson was knocked off his feet. Banner was also thrown down, and starting sliding towards the cliff edge.

Coulson managed to leap for him, grabbing Banner's hand as he went over the side.

From the corner of his eye, Coulson could see the AIM vehicles stop. A half-dozen AIM soldiers, led by the woman, got out and started coming towards them.

He looked down at Banner. "I think I can pull you up," he said, bracing himself for the effort. "Hold on to me."

"Thanks for the thought, but there's no need," said Banner, who seemed remarkably calm for a man dangling over a precipice. "You can let me go."

"It's a big drop," said Coulson. "You won't survive it."

"Agent Coulson," said Banner, "if I could die so easily, don't you think I would have done it by now?" For a moment, Coulson saw a streak of almost unbearable sadness in Banner's face.

And then, suddenly, his eyes flashed a luminous green.

Coulson let him go.

Coulson got to his feet and dusted himself off.

The woman was standing in front of him. She handed the missile-launcher to one of the soldiers. The AIM soldiers were wearing some sort of bulky body armour, which made the woman seem even curvier by contrast.

"And you are … ?" said Coulson to her.

"Amanda von Doom," she said. "And before you ask: no, I'm no relation."

"You don't really have the AIM look," said Coulson.

"You might say that I am working as a contractor for this particular project," she said. "The AIM people are excellent at the tech but not so good at tactical smarts. Hence, me. Now, where is Dr Banner?"

"Not here," said Coulson. "In a very real sense."

From the chasm, there was a sound between a growl and a roar. Then the Hulk came leaping up, landing with a huge thump next to Coulson.

"As I said," said Coulson.

Von Doom drew her pistol and fired a volley of shots at the Hulk. The bullets merely bounced off. The Hulk grunted.

"Yeah, I didn't think that would work," she said, re-holstering the weapon. "Fortunately, we came prepared for just this contingency." She tapped a wrist-communicator, presumably connected to the other AIM soldiers at the vehicles. "Unwrap the Easter Egg!" she said, as she and the solders with her started running back.

As Coulson and the Hulk watched, the side of the semi-trailer opened, and something large and silvery rolled out. It did, indeed, look like an Easter Egg, aside from the fact that it was huge and obviously mechanical.

The Egg began to unfurl arms and legs, and a low head. It was a dangerous-looking combat robot, ten feet tall and with enormous fists.

"Good," growled the Hulk, punching one fist into the other palm. "A fight."

He looked around for something to throw as his opening shot.

He saw Coulson's car.

"One moment, please," said Coulson. He went to the car and opened the trunk. He removed a metal briefcase and put it on the ground. Then he took out a large weapon, a combination of machine-gun and mini-cannon. It was SHIELD's Basic/Modifiable Firearm, or BMF for short.

"I have to say," said Coulson, as he rammed a range of clips into the gun, "that I'm getting a bit pissed with these guys."

"You don't look pissed," growled the Hulk.

"I know," said Coulson. "But I am."

He closed the trunk and stepped away from the car.

"Okay, go ahead," he said.

The Hulk gave a grimacing smile. Then he picked up the car and hurled it at the Egg. The car smashed into the Egg, knocking it down. But it was up again in a few moments.

The Hulk and the Egg charged at each other, colliding with a bone-jarring crash. There was a flurry of massive punches.

The Egg picked up the Hulk and threw him down. It held him down with one huge mechanical arm and started punching him with the other.

"Now!" shouted von Doom to the AIM soldiers. "Use the tranq-net!"

A group of soldiers ran forward, carrying a net which pulsed with some sort of electrical energy, aiming to throw it over the Hulk while he was down.

Coulson fired a burst from his big gun, kicking up a spray of dirt and driving the soldiers back.

"Let's keep this a one-to-one fight, shall we?" he said to von Doom. He levelled the gun at her.

Amanda von Doom looked him in the eye. Eventually, she said: "Alright. One-to-one it is."

The Egg was still holding the Hulk down and was still punching him, again and again.

"Well, more or less," said Coulson. He pointed the gun at the Egg's head and fired a long burst.

The bullets did not have much effect against the armour but it was still a diversion. The Egg stopped punching the Hulk and turned its head towards Coulson.

The Hulk took advantage of the distraction to grab hold of the Egg's arm that was pinning him. With a savage growl, he pulled. With a tear of metal and cables, the arm broke at the elbow. The Hulk, getting to his feet, started to use the severed forearm as a club, beating the Egg over the head.

The Egg swivelled, using its other arm to punch at the Hulk again. The Hulk blocked the blow, and then delivered a savage head-butt to the Egg's chest.

The Egg fell back several steps. It made a sound like a robot groan. It stopped moving.

The Hulk looked around for another weapon. He saw Coulson's car, or what was left of it. He picked it up and began to batter the Egg with it. Pieces began to fall off.

Coulson looked at von Doom. "Guess the tech wasn't as good as they thought," he said.

Von Doom nodded. She gestured for the soldiers to get back into the vehicles as the Hulk continued to pound the Egg. They began to drive off. But as they were leaving, von Doom's van stopped next to Coulson. She leaned out.

"Hey," she said to him. "Are you, you know, seeing anyone?"

"As it happens, I am," he said. "A cellist."

She sighed. "Pity," she said. She signalled to the driver, and in a few moments the vehicles were gone.

The Hulk was now dismembering the Egg.

Coulson went up to the Hulk and tapped him on the shoulder. "I think it's dead," he said.

The Hulk looked at the remains of the Egg and grunted agreement. "That was fun," he said.

"Glad you liked it," said Coulson. "I don't find the hand-to-hand stuff especially enjoyable, myself."

"Then you're not doing it right," growled the Hulk. "I could have done it alone, you know."

"I know," said Coulson. "I just wanted to use this BMF gun here."

The Hulk grunted again.

"I think you should probably be on your way, before more company arrives," said Coulson. "This little to-do may have popped up on an army radar. Here, take this." He held out the metal briefcase.

The Hulk looked at it.

"It's for the Other Guy," said Coulson. "Paperwork."

The Hulk gave a snort that showed his disdain for the Other Guy. But he took the briefcase. It seemed tiny in his huge green hand. He looked down at Coulson.

Then he turned away, and took a running leap, launching himself into the air.

Coulson watched him until he was out of sight.

"See you, big guy," he said.

END

* * *

**Lunch, with Pepper**

_Pepper Potts loves to snoop. But what she finds this time is not what she expected._

Pepper Potts knew that spying on a friend was probably not a good thing to do, but she could not deny that she was enjoying herself. Ever since Phil Coulson had mentioned 'the cellist in Portland', she had wanted to find out more. And by her nature she was, well, sort of nosy. _So shoot me,_ she said to herself.

When she had heard Coulson mention that he was going to Portland on his day off she could not, of course, do anything other than follow him. From a discreet distance. In the Stark jet. Handy being able to utilise all these resources, no questions asked. She supposed that she could have simply tasked one of the company satellites to do the job, but that sort of thing took all the fun out of it.

So now she was hiding behind a decorative pillar in Jake's Famous Crawfish, purportedly the best restaurant in Portland, peering at Coulson, as he sat at the best table in the place. The table was set for two; he was obviously waiting for someone.

She sidled up to the maître-d, hoping that Coulson would not glance her way. "I see a friend of mine over there," she said, pointing. "I believe he is going to be meeting another friend for lunch. But I have forgotten her name. I'd hate to embarrass everyone. Would you happen to have it in your book?"

The maître-d looked at his list. "Ah, that would be Wanda Michelson," he said. "She plays cello in the city orchestra, I believe."

Pepper thanked the man, by way of a large tip. She retreated to the front of the restaurant, near the door, and took out her phone. It was one of the top-line Stark phones, the type that was never going to be for sale. It could do nearly anything except whistle Dixie. But Tony was working on an app for that.

The search function of the phone was voice-activated. Pepper said: "Wanda Michelson, cellist", and pressed the appropriate key.

A series of references about her being in the Portland Orchestra came up. There was a picture of her. She was attractive. Tall.

Pepper said to the phone: "Wanda Michelson, personal data search."

NO INFORMATION came up on the screen.

"Driver's licence?"

NO INFORMATION.

"Passport, immigration status?"

NO INFORMATION.

"Record of birth, all countries?"

NO INFORMATION.

"Speeding fines, parking tickets?"

NO INFORMATION.

"Oh, come on now," said Pepper. "Everyone has some parking tickets."

"Perhaps," said a female voice, "that is because I do not drive. I get around by broom."

Pepper jumped.

Wanda Michelson, aka Non-Existent Person, was standing in front of her.

"I wasn't peeking!" Pepper burst out. "Not really!"

"Yes you were," said Wanda.

"Well, maybe a little," conceded Pepper.

"May I ask why?" said Wanda.

Pepper sighed. "We have a mutual friend," she said. "Phil Coulson. In fact, he's waiting for you now, at a table by the window. He's mentioned you. Well, not by name. He's told me about you. Well, he's said that you play the cello. So I was … curious."

"Ah," said Wanda. "You are Pepper Potts."

"What, he's told you about me?"

"No. I just know these things. It's something they teach you in cello school."

"Huh. Do they also teach you how to be so far under the radar that you don't appear to be there at all?"

Wanda studied Pepper carefully. It occurred to Pepper that if Wanda was able to erase all traces of her official existence then she might be a rather dangerous person.

"I think of Phil as a friend," said Pepper. "What is it you want with him?"

"I would have thought," said Wanda, "that that was obvious. He's just about the coolest, sweetest, most honourable man I've ever met. We always have a good time together, although we don't get to see each other as much as I would like. And he's a really good kisser. Really good. I'm hoping that we might get to sex at some point, when we're both ready, and I think that will be really good too."

"So this isn't some plan to infiltrate SHIELD?"

"Infiltrate … what?"

"SHIELD. Since he's a SHIELD agent."

"Phillip is a SHIELD agent?"

"One of the very top ones. Oh, maybe that's something I shouldn't have told you, if you didn't know."

"No, I didn't. Not that I particularly care. But now some things make a bit more sense. Like that incident with Thor, for example."

"Thor? You mean, the God of Thunder?"

"That's the one. Long story. Bit silly. Look, I'm hungry and I don't want to keep Phillip waiting. Why don't you join us for lunch?"

"Sure," said Pepper.

As they walked to the table, Pepper said: "I still don't understand why there are no official records about you."

"Perhaps," said Wanda, "it is because my surname is not actually Michelson. I changed it for … family reasons. It was originally Maximoff."

"Wanda Maximoff," said Pepper. "Nice. Better than Potts."

Her phone was still turned to the voice-activated search function. It began to look for the name Wanda Maximoff, and continued even when Pepper put it into her handbag.

The phone delved through a series of classified databases. Eventually, it produced an answer.

'Wanda Maximoff,' said the screen. 'Also known as Scarlet Witch. Extremely powerful mutant. Full extent of psychic powers unknown. Current whereabouts unknown. If located, do not approach. Under any circumstances. Extremely dangerous.'

END

* * *

**We'll Always Have Budapest**

_But they remember it very differently._

"Palacsinta," said Black Widow.

"What the hell is that?" said Hawkeye.

"Not that this is in any way relevant to the mission parameters," said Agent Coulson, "but palacsinta are a type of stuffed pancake popular in Hungary. They are usually served flaming, in a dark chocolate sauce filled with ground walnuts."

"To die for," said Black Widow. "There is a place right here in Budapest which is famous for having the best. We should go there later."

"There may not be a later," said Hawkeye. He took a quick glance over the low wall they were using as cover. A stream of machine gun bullets smashed into the wall; he quickly ducked down again.

Black Widow put her gun over the edge and fired a volley of bullets. There was an answering stream of fire.

"Can you see them?" said Hawkeye.

"Not from here," said Black Widow.

Agent Coulson adjusted his tie. "We should be going," he said. "This mission is complete. We have identified the location of the arms cache, the black-tech lab, and the cartel leaders. Now we go back to the office, and let the SHIELD Heavy Weapons Unit take over. In this part of the city, no-one is going to notice."

The three of them looked around. The area was, indeed, a mess. Rubble, wrecks, and ruin. They were in the middle of what had once been a wide street; there were smashed, burned-out buildings on either side. It had long been one of the 'bad' neighbourhoods of Budapest, but when the crime organisations had moved in and begun to fight for territory until only one was left, it had really gone to hell. The government had recently announced that the area was scheduled for 'urban redevelopment'. Like that was going to happen.

"We owe these guys some payback," said Hawkeye. "We're not the first team that came in here, remember."

"As I recall," said Agent Coulson, "the other team made the mistake of under-estimating the cartel's firepower. Which includes tanks, soldiers, and robot sentinels. Between you, you two have a bow and arrow, and a pair of pistols. So we should make a tactical withdrawal. That is an order."

Hawkeye glanced at Black Widow. "Natasha," he said in a mock whisper. "Can the man in the suit give us orders?"

"Technically, yes," said Black Widow in a similar voice.

Hawkeye cleared his throat. "Okay," he said in a normal tone. "You go, Agent Coulson, and we'll be right behind you."

"We will?" said Black Widow. "Oh, right. Yes, right behind you, Agent Coulson."

Agent Coulson sighed. "You give some people some shiny toys and they think they're superheroes," he said, more to himself than the others.

He stood up. Immediately, there was a burst of gunfire that tore bricks from the wall and generated a shower of dust.

Agent Coulson brushed the dust from his suit with the back of his hand. "Well, then," he said. "See you back at the heli-carrier." He turned and walked away.

The two of them watched him go. "He's right, you know, about the firepower gap," said Hawkeye.

"Outnumbered, outgunned, when has that ever bothered us?" said Black Widow.

"You want the tanks on the left or the robot sentinels on the right?" said Hawkeye, taking a handful of explosive arrows from his quiver.

"What I want," said Black Widow, as she checked the clips of her guns, "is the command bunker at the back. That's where the cartel leaders will be. But I'll start with the robots on the right."

They clipped mini-radios to their ears so they could stay in contact.

Black Widow took a concussion-grenade from her pocket. It would draw the enemy fire for a few moments, at least. She threw it. It landed in the open, ten metres away, and immediately there was a storm of bullets to the spot.

Black Widow went one way, firing as she went. Hawkeye went the other, loosing arrows at the tanks. They were heavily armoured; it took him seven arrows to take out two – which left another eight of them.

On the right, the squat robot sentinels, armed with heavy machine guns, swivelled to track Black Widow. She was close enough to knock out one with a volley of her armour-piercing bullets, but there were several more – worryingly, she was not sure how many. She threw herself down behind a pile of rubble and reloaded.

"This is fun," she said into the mini-radio.

"I can't remember when I last had such a good time," replied Hawkeye. "Although I wish I could."

"Where are you?"

"Behind a piece of concrete that is really much too small to provide meaningful cover. I can see you from here. Are you aware that a dozen heavies in body armour are moving to flank you?"

"I am now. Can you see the bunker from there?"

"I can see it, but it's too far for a shot. I can't stay here and you can't stay there. You see that pair of wrecked cars? I'll meet you there in seven seconds."

They broke cover at the same moment, and ran for the cars. They made it – just. But now they were trapped, the cartel soldiers having cut off their line of retreat. And the tanks were starting to move towards them.

"Right now," said Hawkeye, "that restaurant with the chocolate pancakes sounds pretty good. I guess it could be worse. Could be raining."

As he spoke, the skies began to darken and there was a sound like thunder.

But it wasn't the weather turning against them. It was a helicopter, with a pair of machine guns on one side and a bevy of rockets on the other. Not a SHIELD chopper; it bore the insignia of the Hungarian Air Force.

There was a man in a dark suit at the controls. He had a mini-radio on his ear.

"Where did you get the hardware?" said Black Widow to him.

"Borrowed it," said Agent Coulson.

He brought the chopper down low, raking the troop of soldiers with the machine guns, driving them back to the cover of a ruined building. Then he turned and fired a salvo of rockets at the oncoming tanks, destroying several.

"Well," said Black Widow. "That was … efficient."

A rope ladder dropped out of the chopper. Black Widow went up first, followed by Hawkeye. But now the robot sentinels had targeted the chopper and were spraying it with bullets. The chopper itself was armoured but a bullet hit one of the ropes of the ladder, cutting it. Hawkeye had not reached the chopper; he dropped a metre before he could grab the remaining rope.

Agent Coulson's voice came over the mini-radio.

"Try and not fall, Mister Barton," he said.

"Yes, I'll do that," said Hawkeye through gritted teeth.

Black Widow had taken control of the heavy gun at the door and was targeting the robot sentinels and the tanks.

"If I swing closer in," said Agent Coulson to Hawkeye, "do you think you could get one of your explosive arrows into the bunker?"

"Are you aware," said Hawkeye, "that I'm currently hanging on by a finger and a prayer?"

"I am. But I have used all the missiles this helicopter carries."

"Didn't you say that you were going to call the Heavy Weapons people?"

"Well, you know, they're pretty busy, what with the Hydra thing and all. And since we're here … "

Hawkeye sighed. "Okay, since we're here," he said.

Agent Coulson swung the chopper towards the bunker as Black Widow knocked down the last sentinel. As Hawkeye readied his bow – not easy while holding onto the rope with one hand – he could see the people inside the bunker starting to scatter.

The chopper was still taking heavy fire.

"Whenever you're ready," said Agent Coulson, trying to hold the craft in a stable position.

"This isn't as easy as it looks," said Hawkeye. The bunker window was not particularly big, and the helicopter was rocking under the impact of small-arms fire. He aimed carefully – and let go.

The arrow sailed through the opening.

There was a moment of silence.

And then there was a flash and a roar as the high-explosive head went up.

Agent Coulson turned the helicopter away, and in a few moments they were in open air. Hawkeye managed to climb up. He and Black Widow joined Agent Coulson in the cockpit.

"Thanks for the lift," said Black Widow.

"It was on my way," said Agent Coulson. "I suppose you know that since I am the senior officer in the field, and you both disobeyed a clear order, I will have to administer an appropriate punishment."

Hawkeye nodded. "Yeah, we know," he said.

"And what," said Black Widow, "is the appropriate punishment likely to be?"

Agent Coulson considered. "You will have to pay," he said, "for the palacsinta."

END

* * *

**Stage Fright**

_Confronted by a powerful foe, Agent Coulson and Wanda find that they make a pretty good team._

Wanda hummed to herself as she put her cello into its locker, in the back room of the concert hall. It had been a good rehearsal session, but the reason she was happy was that she would be going out to dinner with Phillip in a little while; he had said that he would meet her outside the hall. She wondered if she should ask him about his work at SHIELD, recently revealed to her – somewhat inadvertently – by Pepper Potts. Just what, she thought to herself, does a top agent of SHIELD actually _do_?

As she was packing her things away, she realised she had left her sheet music on the stage. Well, it was easy enough to get it, even if everyone else had gone home. In fact, she liked the echoing emptiness of the hall. She was not always comfortable around a lot of people. She had not been able to control the level at which she heard and sensed things until her late teens, and she still had painful memories of times when, as a child, she had felt that the whole world was shouting at her.

She walked onto the stage, and picked up her music book from where she had left it. She was about to go when she heard a noise from the shadows.

"I knew I could smell a witch," growled a voice. A big man stepped onto the stage. He had a mane of white hair and held a wooden cross in front of him. "Remember me?" he said.

_Cotton Mather,_ she thought. _How could I forget. Witch hunter. Psychopath. Who somewhere along the line gained some mystical powers of his own. Guy was damned near invulnerable._

"No," she said.

Mather gave a coarse little laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you do," he said. "You remember the last time we met? You sent me somewhere. Turned out to be a hell dimension. You know how long it took me to fight my way out of there?"

"Not long enough, obviously," said Wanda. "Uh, you do know that I'm not actually a witch, don't you? I'm … something else."

"You're close enough," he said.

"Not any more," she said. "I've done my best to give that stuff up, Mather. I'm living a quiet life now. Job, house, boyfriend. And I'm pretty happy with it."

"Ah," said Mather. "That would be why everyone around here is so damned cheery. Smiling all the time, thanking each other over nothing. All your influence."

_That's interesting_, thought Wanda_. And it explains a few things._

"It's not natural," said Mather. "_You're_ not natural."

She looked at him. "We have no quarrel," she said, speaking slowly and clearly. "You should forget you found me and go on your way."

Mather smiled. "Your witchy mind tricks won't work," he said. He touched his headband. "Something I picked up on my recent travels. Like your Dad's helmet. Same effect."

Wanda could feel her hand starting to tingle, then burn.

Mather laughed again. "Go ahead," he said. "Try."

Almost before she thought about it, a bolt of crimson energy shot out of her hand, snapping towards Mather.

But the wooden cross stopped the bolt. The impact drove Mather back several steps, but he stayed on his feet.

"My turn," he said.

Something like a streak of lightning came out of the cross. It smashed into Wanda and threw her across the stage.

Mather walked up to her. "That one was just for fun," he said. "The next one is going to really hurt." He lifted the cross again.

"Please don't do that," said a voice behind him.

Mather turned – just in time to see a fist whack into his face. Then there was another punch, and another punch, and then a kick, and then a chop, and then another kick, and then another punch. Mather fell, but was up again in a moment. He touched his bleeding, bruised face.

"And who the fuck are you!" he said to his attacker.

"Boyfriend," said Coulson. He drew his gun and levelled it at Mather. "Now you should put the weapon down."

"Go ahead and shoot," said Mather.

"Okay," said Coulson. He fired – repeatedly. A whole clip.

The bullets pushed Mather back but didn't seem to be able to penetrate. Mather rushed at Coulson, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off his feet. "I don't know who you are," he said. "But I don't like you."

"Mutual," said Coulson, through gritted teeth.

Mather hurled Coulson across the stage. He landed with a bone-jarring thud.

Then Mather heard a sound: _beep beep beep_. It seemed to be coming from him. He looked down – and saw a device, with a small red flashing light, attached to the front of his coat. The beeping stopped. He said: "Son of a – "

And the rest was lost in the explosion.

But, though dazed and weakened, he still managed to get back on his feet. "Good try, little man," he said to Coulson. "Very good try. Not good enough, though." He aimed the cross at Coulson, still lying on the floor.

"No!" shouted Wanda, from the other side of the stage. Her eyes were flaming red. A bolt of energy leaped out of her, smashing into Mather. Then another, and another. Mather was pushed backwards. The cross fell from his hand.

She lifted her arms. A vortex began to form in the air. It began to sweep towards Mather. He started to scream.

"BEGONE!" she shouted.

And suddenly Cotton Mather, and the vortex, were simply no longer there.

Wanda sagged to her knees. Coulson rushed over to her, and helped her up.

"Where did he go?" said Coulson.

"I'm … not entirely sure," said Wanda. "Somewhere a long way away, I hope." She looked around at the wrecked stage. "The conductor's going to be pissed tomorrow," she said.

"I know some people who might be able to help with that," said Coulson. "Consequences & Disposals. Handy bunch. I'll give them a call later."

They found some surviving chairs and sat down. They were both rather bruised. Coulson picked up Mather's weapon. It appeared to be a simple wooden cross. Well, something for the SHIELD tech team to play with.

"I suppose," said Wanda, "that you would like me explain all this."

"Not really," he said. "You can if you want to, but don't feel as if you have to. When you're ready. And if you're never ready, that's okay too."

"That's very understanding, given the weirdness of what just happened."

"Hey, I deal with a Norse demigod, a bad-tempered green giant, and a fellow who gets around in a red-and-gold suit of armour. Weird is part of my life."

She nodded. "But I guess this means that our date is off," she said.

He smiled, and straightened his tie. He picked up her coat and put it around her shoulders. "Not at all," he said.

END

* * *

**Tectonic Plates**

_Who moved the Earth?_

Nick Fury was out of the chopper before the wheels touched the deck of the SHIELD heli-carrier. In a few moments, he burst onto the control bridge. Alarms were ringing, lights were flashing, people were running this way and that.

"I've got the concept!" he shouted above the din. "Now, someone kill the damned alarm!"

Immediately, someone killed the damned alarm.

Fury joined Deputy Director Maria Hill at the Big Board.

"What have we got?" he said.

"You remember that energy spike a while ago, in Portland?" she said. "There were a number of similar ones, spread over the next few months, from various spots in and around the city. Then, about thirty minutes ago, there was one that was much, much bigger. Portland again, but so large that we haven't been able to get a firm location or define the type. Some sort of psychic energy, is all the techs can say. It's faded off now."

"Any sort of damage?"

"None that we can see. But it's like the Earth moved. Although satellite imagery showed that the tectonic plates in the area were entirely stable."

The Head of Statistical Research came up to them. "I don't know if this is relevant," she said, "but over the past couple of months we have been seeing some strange data from the Portland area. Crime down, philanthropy up. Flower shops are doing very well and gun stores are going out of business. Hard to know what to make of it."

Fury raised his eyebrow. He turned to the Communications Desk. "Put me through to the SHIELD Portland office," he said.

"We're trying," said the Head of Communications. "But we're not getting through."

"Has the office been attacked?" said Fury. "Has the equipment there been damaged?"

"Er, no. It appears to be not so much damaged as … off. In fact, messages from the Portland office for the past couple of months have been … peculiar. Nothing that merits reporting, but … peculiar."

"Peculiar?" said Fury. "Peculiar, how? You mean, they're in trouble?"

"Not so much. More like … er, well … happy."

"Happy!"

"And peculiar."

Fury drew himself up to his full, imposing height. "This," he said, "is SHIELD! We do not do 'happy'!"

"Communications with the Portland office now coming online," said the 2IC-Comms from her console. "Displaying visuals on the Big Board."

A picture of the Portland office of SHIELD came up. There was rock music thundering away, and only one SHIELD Officer, Technical Specialist O'Neal, in view. He was spinning around on his swivel chair in time with the music.

O'Neal saw them on the monitor. He stopped his spinning and turned to face them.

"Hi," he said, although he could hardly be heard over the music.

"Turn the music down, Technical Specialist," said Fury.

"What?" he said.

"Turn the music – hey, is that _30 Seconds to Mars_?"

"Sure is, boss!" said O'Neal.

"Heh, they're pretty good for white guys," said Fury. Then he remembered that he was the Director of SHIELD. "Turn the music down, Technical Specialist!" he shouted.

Reluctantly, O'Neal turned the music down. "I thought of a way to make the comms equipment into a really, really good sound system," he said. "Hey, we should have that in all the SHIELD offices. And on the heli-carrier too." Then he saw Deputy Director Hill. He gave her a smile that was, presumably, meant to be seductive. "How're _you_ doin'?" he said.

"Uh, I'm fine, thank you," she said, a bit taken aback. "Technical Specialist, where is the officer-in-charge?"

"Agent Grey? She's in the storeroom."

"Huh. And where is the second-in-charge?"

"Agent Gregg? Also in the storeroom. They're having a meeting."

"In the storeroom?"

"Only place available." He winked at them. Then he winked again.

"Something wrong with your eye?" said Fury.

"No," said O'Neal. "Something wrong with yours?"

Then the office head, Agent Grey, appeared on the monitor. Her hair and clothes were in what might politely be called disarray.

"Hi," she said to Fury and Hill.

"Agent Grey," said Hill, "you are out of uniform."

"Not long ago, I was _really_ out of uniform," she said, with a huge smile. "And please call me Jennifer. All my friends do. Or Jen."

Fury drew Hill aside, away from the Big Board. "Peculiar doesn't start to say it," he said. "But how does this connect with the energy spike?"

"It's hard to believe that it doesn't," she said. "Could it be an attack? Influence from an extra-terrestrial source? Something from a criminal organisation, Hydra maybe?"

"A weapon that makes people really, really happy? It just doesn't say Hydra."

"Sirs," said Head-Surveillance. "There appears to be another energy spike building. Same as before."

"How long since the last one?" said Fury.

"About an hour," said the officer.

"Do we still have contact with the Portland office?" said Hill.

"No, they appear to have gone … off ... again," said Head-Comms.

"Put the energy pattern on the Big Board," said Fury.

In a second, it appeared.

Hill and Fury stared at it. The pattern was certainly moving towards a peak, in steady, building pulses.

After a while, Hill said: "It sort of … looks like … er … well … "

"What?" said Fury.

"Uh, nothing, nothing," mumbled Hill.

The pattern reached a particular point – slightly higher than the earlier one – and stayed there for a while. Then it began to recede.

"No reports of tectonic plate shifts in the area," said Head-Surveillance. "No reports of damage. Everyone in Portland seems okay. Fine, in fact. Better than fine, according to this data."

"We need to get some more resources onto this," said Fury to Head-Stats. "Start a cross-match search, tracking all events in the city, and all movements of people in and out of it, against the timing of the energy events.

"And where's Coulson? I know he is supposed to have a day off today, but … where is he?"

* * *

At that moment, Agent Coulson was lying in a soft bed, thinking that Portland was an extremely excellent place to be.

Wanda, next to him, let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Phillip, that was absolutely wonderful," she said. "Even better than the first time, I think. Really, really great."

"Yes," said Coulson, putting his arm around her and stroking her naked back. "It was."

END

* * *

**Mister Rogers Goes to Washington**

_In a new world, in the strangest of places, Steve Rogers believes himself to be alone. But he is wrong._

"I've faced the Red Skull, Baron Zemo, HYDRA, and any number of Nazis," said Steve Rogers. "But nothing as scary as this."

"I agree that the Senate Secret Security Oversight Committee sounds a bit daunting," said Coulson. "But I'm sure the hearings won't be anything you can't handle."

"I'm still getting to grips with all this," said Rogers. "I made a terrible mess of meeting the President at the White House."

"It's true," said Coulson, "that 'Hey, you're black' might not have been the best thing to say when you were shaking his hand. But he didn't seem to mind. It was my fault, really. I should have briefed you about it."

The two of them were in Washington DC, walking through the National Mall, on their way to Congress.

"So much has changed," said Rogers. "A lot of things around here are familiar, though. But what's that wall over there?"

"That," said Coulson, "is the Vietnam Veterans Memorial."

They walked over to it.

"Odd, as war memorials go," said Rogers.

"It was an odd war," said Coulson. "As wars go."

Rogers ran his fingertips over a few of the names inscribed on the marble. "So many," he said.

"58,195," said Coulson.

"Who won?"

"Not us."

Rogers looked along the wall of names. "I like it," he said. "And if it helps those people in the big buildings around here avoid making stupid decisions with other people's lives, I'll like it even more."

They continued walking towards the Capitol building.

"What really scares me," said Rogers, "is that I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm just a soldier, after all. Sure, I was given some help to make me a better one. That was because I wanted to contribute as much as I could. Doesn't mean I like to fight. I'm just a guy. I don't know if I can do anything in this era. I'm not important enough. I should just quit. Although I don't even know what I'd be quitting."

Coulson shook his head. "You're wrong," he said. "This town is full of very important people, or at least people who think they're very important. I'd bet that you're the only one who has ever stood here and said that they are just an ordinary guy. And that makes you anything but ordinary. And too important to quit. And don't worry about what you will do. You didn't stay alive all those years under the ice for nothing, I'm sure. Fate has plans for you. You still have things to do. Things that will make a difference.

"You've always known what the right thing is. That's always been what has made you strong, not the chemical cocktail in your blood. It's what you know in your gut. That's what this country needs. That's what it has always needed, and always will need. It's not guns and numbers that win battles. It's faith. Courage. Conviction."

Rogers stopped, and looked at him. He was quiet for a long time. Eventually, he said: "For a man who wears the same suit every day, you seem to have a pretty good grasp on how the universe works."

Coulson gave a little laugh. They resumed their walk. After a while, Coulson said: "It's not the same suit, you know. I mean, it's the same type, but it's not the same suit. I have a number of them."

"Exactly the same?"

"Exactly the same. I change the tie when I go out with my girlfriend."

Now it was Rogers' turn to laugh.

"By the way," said Rogers. "Just what does SHIELD stand for? The letters, I mean. In case the senators ask."

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," said Coulson. "It used to be Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division but that was considered a bit wordy. So the Acronyms Unit changed it."

"SHIELD has an Acronyms Unit?"

"Of course. How else would we get our acronyms? And Nick Fury likes everything neat. Don't let the eye-patch and the bad-ass style fool you. He likes everything in tidy boxes and under control. In fact, he wants you to work for him. His aim is to have all the superheroes inside SHIELD."

"I get the feeling that you don't agree with that plan."

"No, I don't, and I've told him that. He's a good enough manager to know that it's healthy to have debate and discussion in an organisation. But he sees the emergence of super-powered individuals as a threat to the rule of law. He wants all of you registered and taking orders."

"You see it differently?"

Coulson looked around at the monuments of the Mall. "I can understand his point," he said. "But I can think of 58,195 people who might disagree. As I see it, this country was founded on the right of individual freedom, and the right to dissent. The idea that even the Powers That Be aren't all-knowing.

"I don't like the idea of all decision-making powers concentrated in the hands of a very few people. In a perfect world, the rule of law and the rights of the individual would be balanced. But the world doesn't often make it that easy for us. If push ever came to shove, I think I know which side of the line I would be on. And I think I know where you would be, as well. Let's hope it never comes to that."

"Yes," said Rogers. "Let's hope."

They reached the Capitol, and went in.

"So how should I handle these committee guys?" said Rogers.

"With strength and honour," said Coulson.

"Right," said Rogers. "Strength and honour. How hard can it be? Hey, you'll be there, won't you?"

"Sitting next to you."

Rogers nodded. "Thanks," he said. "For everything."

"What are friends for, if not to fight together in the trenches?" said Coulson.

They went into the SSSOC room and were directed to a table in front of the committee bench.

"For the record," said the committee chairman, "state your name."

Rogers glanced at Coulson. Coulson silently mouthed the words: _strength and honour._

Strength and honour.

Rogers looked back at the committee. "My name," he said, in a voice as clear as a new day, "is Steven Grant Rogers. But many people know me as Captain America."

"And what are you here to do?" said the senator.

"I am here," said Rogers, "to make a difference."

END

* * *

**Echoes**

_Just because it doesn't have hi-tech computer chips doesn't mean it isn't dangerous._

"Why, exactly, are you people in my limousine?" said Tony Stark.

"I invited them," said Pepper Potts.

"I wanted to see more of New York," said Steve Rogers.

"Part of my brief is to ensure that you do not make more of a public spectacle of yourself than usual," said Agent Coulson.

"I was bored," said Natasha Romanova. "And part of my brief is to annoy you as much as possible. So here I am."

"Huh," said Stark. "And you do it so well, über-bimbo. Pepper, how much are we paying this woman?"

"Nothing," said Pepper. "She doesn't work for us."

"Really? Well, hire her at once. Then give her a raise. Then fire her."

"You couldn't afford me," said Natasha. "And if you could, you couldn't fire me."

"Where are we going?" said Rogers.

"We're here," said Pepper. The limousine purred to a halt, and the five of them got out. They were confronted by a large, slightly rundown building. A faded mansion.

"This looks … familiar," said Stark. "Was it in a movie? A TV series? Cartoon?"

"No," said Pepper, as she produced a set of keys and unlocked the gate. The five of them walked up the long driveway. "You own it. Or, more specifically, Stark Industries owns it."

"Oh," said Stark. "And why do I own it, exactly?"

"It was owned by your father," said Pepper, taking a sheaf of documents from her briefcase. "One of many places that he had for some reason or another. I found it when I was going through the property portfolio while I was watching television."

"As one does," said Natasha.

"So if it looks familiar to you, perhaps you were here when you were a kid," said Rogers.

"I was never really a kid," said Stark. "Or never really grew up, I can't remember which."

They went up to the imposing front door. Pepper opened it and they went in. The place was dusty but otherwise in surprisingly good condition. The lights were still working.

"This is nice, but I'm not sure why we're here," said Natasha.

"I've been thinking about what Cap and Phil were saying to me," said Pepper. "About Nick Fury wanting to get people – people with unusual abilities – into SHIELD. I don't really like the sound of that. But if you're going to be together in some sort of team, you're going to need a place that isn't the heli-carrier. Maybe this is a possibility."

"The team thing isn't going to happen," said Stark. "I don't play well with others. Probably more correct to say that they don't play well with me. And how come everyone is always talking behind my back?"

"That would be because no-one likes you," said Natasha.

Rogers was looking around the large hall. "Hey, what's this?" he said, pointing at something on the wall.

"That, my elderly friend, is a button," said Stark. "You may not have had them in your day. You push them."

Rogers pushed it. Metal doors slid open.

"And that," said Stark, "is an elevator. Probably also new to you."

"May I shoot him?" said Natasha to Agent Coulson. "I have a gun right here. Two."

"Not yet," said Agent Coulson. "Let's see where the elevator goes first."

"I'm guessing either up or down," said Stark.

"Funny, it's not on the plans," said Pepper, examining the blueprints she carried.

They got into the elevator, which was strangely large. It began to descend. The doors opened and they stepped out. Lights, apparently activated by their presence, flickered on, revealing a large room of machinery, tools, and gizmos.

"Well well," said Stark. "A secret lab. My dad had so many he probably lost track of them all. The old boy was full of tricks. Not very good ones, but tricks nevertheless."

"Believe me, some of his tricks were very good indeed," said Rogers. "And he attracted a lot of good people to work with him."

"I think all this is very cool," said Natasha. "Gotta love a secret lab."

They looked around. It looked as if no-one had been here for decades. Rogers picked up a document from a desk. It was dated 1942.

There was a heavy metal door at the end of the lab. Next to the door was a large red button.

"I wonder what this does," said Pepper. She pushed it.

"Don't!" Stark cried out. Too late.

"If I wasn't supposed to push it, it wouldn't be a button," said Pepper.

"If you were supposed to push it, it wouldn't be red," said Stark.

From below the mansion, there was the noise of a generator powering to life.

"In this case, and unfortunately," said Natasha, "I think I have to agree with the moron." She drew her Black Widow pistols.

From the chamber on the other side of the door, there was a rumbling, mechanical sound.

Rogers was still reading the document. "Oh no," he muttered. "Arsenal."

The door opened. Something very heavy lumbered slowly out of the chamber. It was like a small tank on squat legs. On the top, it had two heavy machine guns. On one side, there was a set of missiles. On the other, a flamethrower. There were two large mechanical arms.

There was a single glowing red light, with a camera lens below it. The lens swivelled towards them. Then the machine made a sound. It was a single word: "Identify."

"Is it talking to us?" said Stark.

"I don't think I should have pushed the button," said Pepper.

"Out!" shouted Rogers. "Everybody! Now! This is Arsenal!"

"Wrong answer," said the machine. It swung its guns towards the group.

"Oh, they're so old they won't shoot anything but cobwebs," said Stark.

And then Agent Coulson dived at him, knocking him down. A volley of bullets cut through the air where Stark had been standing a moment before.

Natasha fired. But the bullets bounced off the armour. The machine turned towards her. The flamethrower sparked.

"Uh oh," she said.

And then Rogers, holding a heavy metal table before him as a shield, jumped in front of her. The gout of flame smashed into the table. Rogers was driven back but kept his feet.

"Back!" he shouted. "To the elevator! This is getting hot!"

Natasha, Pepper, Stark and Agent Coulson made it to the elevator. Rogers backed up, using the table against the flames. Finally, he was in, and they began to ascend.

"You know," said Stark to Agent Coulson, "that's the second time you've knocked me down like that."

"Or you could think of it as the second time I've saved your life like that," said Agent Coulson.

Stark considered. "I could," he said. "But I won't."

Agent Coulson turned to Rogers. "Captain," he said. "Just what is Arsenal?"

"Arsenal," said Rogers, "was one of the last-resort weapons. You see, at some stages in World War Two there was a real fear that this country would be invaded. The Arsenal project was meant to be a weapon to fight occupying soldiers. I didn't know that Howard Stark was involved with it, but I guess he was. I remember reading a file on it. It never really worked very well. It was a big, tough machine, but the problem was that it couldn't distinguish enemies from friendlies. It could recognise only a few types of identification, and it tended to shoot on sight. So the project was wound up. But not before a prototype was built, apparently."

The elevator doors opened, and they found themselves back in the main hall of the house.

"We should be going," said Agent Coulson.

"This place was just starting to grow on me, aside from the killer robot in the basement," said Stark, as they went through the front door.

"At least it won't be able to get out of there," said Pepper. "Unless it knows how to use an elevator."

They reached the limousine.

And then Arsenal came smashing through the front door of the mansion. Its weapons were up and ready.

"Well," said Pepper. "I guess elevators aren't that hard."

Stark opened the trunk of the limousine and took out something that looked like a large attaché case. He put it on the ground and opened it. It was a portable Iron Man armour unit.

"Thirty seconds, and we'll be ready to turn this museum piece into … whatever museum pieces get turned into," he said. He stepped into the places in the case unit. "Agent Coulson, would you be so good as to keep Ms Potts out of the line of fire."

"We might not have thirty seconds," said Natasha. She reloaded her guns.

"Let's buy him some time, then," said Rogers to her. "You go left, I'll go right." Then he was running. She went the other way, firing as she ran.

But Arsenal was ready for the move. One of its machine guns turned right and the other swung left, tracking Rogers and Natasha.

"Dad, you were always a tricky bastard," muttered Stark, watching, as the armour began to encase him.

Natasha dived and rolled for cover, as bullets zipped past her.

Rogers, faster than Arsenal expected, made a dodging run and then leaped onto the top of the machine, looking for a vulnerable part. Now, the guns could not reach him. But the mechanical arms could. One swung, and whacked into him. He was thrown down. The flamethrower sparked.

ARMOUR INTEGRATION COMPLETE, said the case unit.

And then Iron Man was in the air, sweeping towards Arsenal. Stark fired one of his repulsor beams. It slammed into Arsenal, driving it back several feet. But that was all.

"Huh," said Stark to himself, inside the suit. "Guess they knew how to build 'em, back in the day."

The rack of missiles turned to track Iron Man. Arsenal fired.

The missiles hit him all at once. With a metallic crash, Iron Man fell to the ground.

Pepper ran to him. "Tony!" she cried. "Say something!"

"Ouch," he said. "That was a bit more of a punch than I expected." He struggled to his feet.

Arsenal swung its machine guns around again. A new rack of missiles slid into place. The flamethrower turned towards Rogers.

Agent Coulson was walking steadily towards Arsenal. He was holding something in front of him: not a gun, something else. Something not very big.

"Arsenal, stand down," said Agent Coulson.

Arsenal's camera turned to him. "Identify," said the machine.

"Here is my identification," said Agent Coulson. He held it in front of the camera.

"What's he got?" said Pepper to Stark. "It can't be his SHIELD badge. Arsenal wouldn't know what that is."

"Stand down, soldier," said Coulson.

Arsenal appeared to be considering the order. Then, slowly, it seemed to relax. The guns lowered, and the flamethrower spark vanished. The red light dimmed to darkness.

The others went over to Coulson.

"So what's the secret weapon?" said Rogers.

Agent Coulson handed it to him. Rogers looked at it.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," said Pepper.

"This," said Rogers, "is the badge of a New York City police officer. The badge of an officer named John Coulson."

"John Coulson?" said Natasha.

Agent Coulson nodded. "My father," he said. "He was killed in the line of duty when I was eleven. I've carried his badge with me ever since. I've always felt that it protected me. I guess it does."

"Still, you couldn't have been sure that Arsenal would recognise it," said Stark, pulling up the mask of his suit.

"No," said Agent Coulson. "Not sure."

"In my day, we used to say that things liked that required a set of church bells," said Rogers.

"We still say that," said Natasha.

"Just part of the job," said Agent Coulson. "Nothing more."

Stark was looking at the mansion. "You know," he said. "I think that this place would fix up pretty well. Lick of paint, couple of new light globes, give the lab a wipe down. Repair the door, obviously. Might turn out to be a real home away from home. I think my dad would have liked that." He looked at Agent Coulson. "And maybe yours would have, too."

"Yes," said Agent Coulson. "I think he would have."

END

* * *

**Forget**

_Every story has to have an ending. Whether you know it or not._

It was three days after the defeat of Loki's army in what most people were calling The Battle of 32nd Street. The city was still a mess – not least because of the bodies of the huge armoured creatures defeated by the Avengers – but there was a general feeling in the air that a powerful enemy had been met, and had been overcome.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill were standing on the control bridge of the SHIELD heli-carrier, watching the progress of the massive reconstruction project. A variety of SHIELD agents and officers buzzed this way and that around the bridge.

"If I am not currently needed here," said Hill, "I would like to finalise the matter of Agent Coulson. As best we can, at least. He had no close family, as you know, but there was one person who was obviously important to him. When I opened his locker to collect his personal effects, I found these two things."

She handed them to Fury. The first was a photograph. It was Coulson and an attractive woman. They were smiling, laughing, on a summer's day somewhere. They were eating ice-creams.

The second was a small box. Fury opened it. Inside was an engagement ring. He looked at it for a long moment. Then he closed the box and handed it back to Hill. "Pity we don't know who it was for," he said.

Hill nodded.

The Head of Statistical Research came up to them. "Sirs," she said quietly, so the rest of the people on the bridge could not hear. "We have a problem. One that might make this – " she gestured at ravaged New York – "look like a walk in the park." She handed each of them a document.

Fury looked at her. He knew that Head-Stats was not a woman given to hyperbole. "Let's go into my ready room," he said.

The three of them went into the little office adjoining the control bridge, and Fury closed the door behind them.

"You will recall that last week we monitored that massive energy spike – two, in fact – in the Portland area. Before that, there had been a series of smaller ones. You will also recall, Director, that you asked me to do a cross-reference search on people going into and out of Portland, correlated to the times of the spikes. There was only one person who travelled to Portland at all of those times. His name is in the report."

Fury and Hill each looked at their copies. They both saw the name at the same time.

_SHIELD Agent Phillip Coulson._

"Before we go any further," said Fury to Head-Stats, "tell me: how many copies of this report exist?"

"Just the ones you hold in your hands," said Head-Stats. "And I organised my project team so each member worked on a separate aspect. No-one but me knows the entire picture. And now you."

"Let's keep it that way," said Fury, reading through the report summary. After a while, he said: "So you believe that these energy spikes were from a super-powered individual. Specifically, the emotional responses of one. Responses triggered by Agent Coulson."

"Not just emotional responses," said Head-Stats. "The large spikes were caused by the individual experiencing intense – "

"I've got the concept," said Fury.

"Dammit," muttered Hill. "I thought that that energy pattern looked familiar."

"We also believe that the recent changes in the behaviour profile of the population of the area – towards positive, charitable, healthy attitudes – are the result of this individual herself – we are sure it is a woman, from the energy signature – feeling happy. But not a conscious projection. It indicates that she is not fully in control of whatever powers she has."

Fury held up the photograph. "This her?" he said.

Head-Stats looked at it. "We don't know what she looks like," she said. "But if that's her, she certainly looks pretty happy there. The point, sirs, is that she was being made happy by her relationship with Agent Coulson."

"I can understand that," said Hill. "He is a good man."

"Was," said Head-Stats. "Not is."

Hill and Fury exchanged glances.

"Yes," said Hill. "That's what I meant."

"But now," said Head-Stats, "Agent Coulson is dead. When this individual finds that out … "

"She is likely to be unhappy," said Fury. "Very unhappy."

"At least," said Head-Stats. "And this woman is extremely powerful. To the point of being difficult to even measure. We would predict what one of my team called 'explosive grief'. I emphasise the explosive part."

"So what are we talking about?" said Hill. "Losing the whole West Coast?"

"That is something we have put in the 'best case scenario' category," said Head-Stats. "A more likely outcome would be a burst of energy that would fundamentally alter the nature of reality itself. God knows how. But certainly not in a way we would like."

"Do you have any good news?" said Fury.

"One thing," said Head-Stats. "We know where she lives. We eventually managed to triangulate the origin of the super-spikes. The address is in the report."

Fury turned to Hill. "Go," he said. "I will contact … our friend. Time to call in that favour he owes us."

"Favour or not, he's not going to like it," said Hill.

Fury grunted. " 'Like' don't enter into it," he said.

* * *

Wanda was re-stringing her cello in her living room. The television was on; there was a news program about the continuing clean-up in New York. It was why, she assumed, she had not heard from Phillip for nearly a week. She did not know what role he would have played in the battle and the events surrounding it, but it was most likely to have been significant – if entirely away from the cameras. He was that sort of guy, after all.

The doorbell rang. Perhaps it was a delivery of flowers; Phillip often sent some if he was unable to call. She went to the door and opened it.

It was a woman, young-ish, with short dark hair. "Hello," she said. "My name is Maria Hill. I am the Deputy Director of SHIELD." She offered her hand.

Instinctively, Wanda took it.

Zap.

* * *

They were in a secure SHIELD facility. Fury and Hill were standing by the bed where Wanda lay. A series of tubes pumped powerful sedatives into her arm. The machines monitoring her bio-signs showed that she was in a deep, deep sleep. Too deep to even dream. She had been that way for nearly two days.

"Funny, she doesn't look dangerous," said Fury.

"She's a cellist," said Hill. "The only thing she did wrong was fall in love."

A uniformed SHIELD officer entered.

"Sirs, he's here," he said.

"Show him in," said Fury.

In a few moments, a bald man in a wheelchair entered.

"Professor," said Fury, somewhat warily.

"Director," said Charles Xavier, with equal wariness. He moved to the side of the bed and looked at Wanda. "Hello again, my dear," he said to her. "It's been quite a while. Too long, perhaps."

"Professor," said Fury, "I explained what has to be done. Are you capable of doing it?"

"I believe so," he said. "But she has an extremely powerful mind. I cannot actually remove her memories. It is more a matter of building a wall around them, so she will not be aware of them. But it means taking away something of great value to her. An important part of her life. I wish there was an alternative."

"The alternative," said Hill, "is that we keep her permanently in her current state."

"And the alternative to that," said Fury, "is this." He took his gun from its shoulder holster. "And I'm not even sure that that is much different to her staying asleep forever."

Xavier nodded. "I know," he said. "And I know what is likely to happen if we do nothing. It doesn't mean that I like it."

"And perhaps it will be better for her too, in the long run," said Hill.

Xavier looked at Wanda for a long moment. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps." Then he put his hand gently on her forehead.

"Forget," he said.

* * *

Wanda was re-stringing her cello in her living room. The television was on; there was another news program about the continuing clean-up in New York.

There was a sound behind her. She tensed, and then spun around, hand raised.

It was her brother.

"Dammit, Pietro!" she said. "How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that! Next time I'll turn you into something that slithers, and we'll see how fast you are then!"

Pietro laughed. "Calm down, sister," he said. "It's good to see you again. I thought you might be out with your boyfriend."

"My what?" said Wanda.

END AND AMEN


End file.
